Were accomplished and completed.
But the place was not forgotten
Where he wrestled with Mondamin;
Nor forgotten nor neglected

Was the grave where lay Mondamin,
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine,
Where his scattered plumes and garments
Faded in the rain and sunshine.

Day by day did Hiawatha

Go to wait and watch beside it;
Kept the dark mould soft above it,
Kept it clean from weeds and insects,
Drove away, with scoffs and shoutings,
Kahgahgee, the king of ravens.

Till at length a small green feather
From the earth shot slowly upward,
Then another and another,

And before the Summer ended
Stood the maize in all its beauty,
With its shining robes about it,
And its long, soft, yellow tresses;
And in rapture Hiawatha
Cried aloud, "It is Mondamin!
Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin!"
Then he called to old Nokomis
And Iagoo, the great boaster,

Showed them where the maize was growing,
Told them of his wondrous vision,

Of his wrestling and his triumph,

Of this new gift to the nations,

Which should be their food for ever.
And still later, when the Autumn

Changed the long, green leaves to yellow,

And the soft and juicy kernels
Grew like wampum hard and yellow,
Then the ripened ears he gathered,

Stripped the withered husks from off them,
As he once had stripped the wrestler,
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin,
And made known unto the people
This new gift of the Great Spirit.

VI.

HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS.

Two good friends had Hiawatha,
Singled out from all the others,
Bound to him in closest union,
And to whom he gave the right hand
Of his heart, in joy and sorrow;
Chibiabos, the musician,

And the very strong man, Kwasind.
Straight between them ran the pathway,
Never grew the grass upon it;

Singing birds, that utter falsehoods,
Story-tellers, mischief-makers,
Found no eager ear to listen,

Could not breed ill-will between them,
For they kept each other's counsel,
Spake with naked hearts together,
Pondering much, and much contriving
How the tribes of men might prosper.
Most beloved by Hiawatha

Was the gentle Chibiabos,
He the best of all musicians,
He the sweetest of all singers.
Beautiful and childlike was he,
Brave as man is, soft as woman,
Pliant as a wand of willow,
Stately as a deer with antlers.

When he sang, the village listened;
All the warriors gathered round him,
All the women came to hear him;
Now he stirred their souls to passion,
Now he melted them to pity.

From the hollow reeds he fashioned Flutes so musical and mellow,

That the brook, the Sebowisha,

Ceased to murmur in the woodland,

That the wood-birds ceased from singing, And the squirrel, Adjidaumo,

Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree,

And the rabbit, the Wabasso,

Sat upright to look and listen.

66

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, Pausing, said, "O Chibiabos, Teach my waves to flow in music, Softly sa your words in singing!"